Reason 21
by The-Fall-Season
Summary: A slightly Johnlock fic for HIMYM's 21st reason to have sex: To prove we're not in a rut. No actual action. T for coarse language and slightly implied sex. Hopefully better than it sounds.


I'm writing some fics based on HIMYM's "50 Reasons to have Sex." I'll basically just be skipping around, a new chapter for each reason. Different pairings will be published as separate fics.  
Disclaimer: I do not in any way own Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mycroft Holmes, Greg Lestrade, Sally Donovan, or Anderson.  
Set shortly after 'A Scandal in Belgravia'-btw, let's pretend John never had any of those gfs.  
IMPORTANT: Established relationship between Sherlock and John, but the other characters aren't aware of it.

* * *

21. To prove we're not in a rut.

_"Dominatrix..."_

_"Don't be alarmed. It has to do with sex."_

_"Sex doesn't alarm me."_

_"How would you know?"_

It bothered John how little some people thought of Sherlock, how quick they were to criticize him and how easy it was for them. It bothered John how blatantly rude they could be, and how naturally it came to them to simply disregard all feelings Sherlock may have.

Donovan, refusing to use Sherlock's name and instead simply referring to him as 'Freak' or 'The Freak,' and always being a bitch to him, even though he really hasn't ever done much to insult her. Mycroft was kind of an awful brother- with the constant disrespect and the taunts he delivered pertaining to Ms. Adler. Perhaps if Mycroft acted playfully, or indicated in any way that he was joking around, then his actions would be a little more brotherly and a little less dickish. But no. And Anderson, just being a total and complete asshole in everything. Taking every opportunity possible to see Sherlock squirm, actually seeming to enjoy his misery.

It bothered John how utterly fucked up these people really were. These people that should be trusted- law enforcement and Sherlock's own damn _brother_, for goodness' sake. Humankind was sort of going to the dogs.

And after the initial teasing during the picture scandal, the sexual remarks didn't stop. Mycroft had only made one more comment, one in reference to his first few. In front of Anderson. And Donovan. And, oh yeah, _the entirety of Scotland Yard_...okay. So that was a bit of an exaggeration, but it was a lot of people who would no doubt tell a lot of people. So yes. Most likely the entirety of Scotland Yard and others.

John couldn't remember what Mycroft had even said- mostly because he hadn't been listening too well. He had been turned towards Sherlock, gauging his reaction. His face remained stoic, and to anyone else he may have seemed to ignore the comment, and laughter, and jeers, and all else. But simply by the look in Sherlock's eyes John knew he was hurting, feeling utterly humiliated, questioning his brother's reasoning, and, most of all; hating himself. Hating that he was someone that people enjoyed hurting this way, _could_ hurt this way.

Sherlock had admitted this to John not long ago. It was a long, grueling, slightly confusing explanation, but through all of it John had come to this conclusion: Sherlock didn't like himself, but still thought he was better than everyone else. Knew he was better than everyone else. And not necessarily in a condescending way, but in that Sherlock Holmes was both much smarter than the average human, and non-judgmental. He didn't judge. He didn't _care_. Didn't care that Anderson cheated on his wife, didn't care that Ms. Adler was a dominatrix, _didn't care that John was a broken man come home from the war going nowhere fast of average intelligence who wore ugly jumpers._ And the fact that he didn't care, didn't judge, made him better than everyone else. Or at least, John thought so.

* * *

It had been three weeks, and comments were still being made. Snickers could be heard 'round corners where people thought they were out of sight and earshot. Or maybe they didn't. Because maybe they didn't care. Maybe they didn't care about Sherlock, the genius who had solved more of their cases than they had.

So it had been three weeks, and John and Sherlock were both in a bit of a mood about it. And Sherlock didn't like being in a bit of a mood about it. (Neither did John, but he had a few more... sane... coping methods than Sherlock) So he decided he would do something about it.

Mycroft and the yard had been working on some case together, a 5 at the most, so he didn't care for the details. But he knew they were stumped. And he knew they would come to him. They would spend the night working hard, trying their best to solve the case and prove that, no, they didn't rely too heavily on Sherlock. And in the early morning they would end up at the detective's shared home, reluctantly requesting assistance. So he knew what he would do.

* * *

Just as Sherlock predicted, it was 7:41am when Mycroft, Lestrade, Donovan, and Anderson were let into the house by Mrs. Hudson and went tromping into apartment b, ignoring the landlady's call of, "I'd knock first, if I was you!" Surely Sherlock was dressed by now, he had no doubt known they were coming. So they went to his bedroom, opened the door, and-

Silence.

Absolute silence from the intruders in apartment b. For there lay Sherlock and John. In bed. Together.

The sheets were down at their waists, and John had his head resting on Sherlock's shoulder. Both men were shirtless, and would probably prove to be entirely nude if one were to check under the covers. John was asleep, but the consulting detective was awake, sitting up only slightly as not to wake his sleeping lover, an unimpressed look on his face directed towards the people in the doorway. Jaws dropped, eyebrows raised, they were a rather comical sight.

"Is now... not a good time, Sherlock?" Lestrade asked cautiously, dispelling the uncomfortable silence but making things more uncomfortable in doing so.

"No, now is perfect, Detective Inspector. Just give me a moment." Sherlock tilted his head, saying lowly, "John? Wake up, we have guests. Come on, rise and shine." Sherlock was pleasantly satisfied with the speechlessness from the three other 'guests.'

"Mm, guests? What are you going on about? What do-What the hell?" John finally opened his eyes, jumping but not changing position as he noticed the other people in the room. "Don't you knock?"

What the intruders noticed most (other than the awkwardity of the situation and the fact that Sherlock actually was getting some) was the affection existing between Sherlock and John. It wasn't sugary words or sweet kisses, but what could really only be described as love. Sherlock's gentle words in John's ear, John leaning back on Sherlock, still cuddled close. It was so delicately intimate, they felt they were intruding.

Before any of them could respond, Sherlock jumped in, "I can probably help you, but I'll have to ask you to leave the room for a bit." And just like that, unsurprisingly, they all left, closing the door behind them.

John decided he'd ignore Sherlock's low chuckling in favor of collecting and putting on his clothes from last night.

* * *

A VERY LONG A/N- So it was really just to prove Sherlock wasn't in a rut, but I liked this reason and couldn't write a better fic. Sue me. I probably should/could have described 'the intruders'' reactions better, made them a little more like themselves, but it was 3am when I wrote this and I was tired and instead of Detective Inspector I apparently wrote Detector Inspective and I don't want to add more to the fic. And if you're actually reading this, I thought I should tell you why John doesn't ever defend Sherlock: Obviously, since they didn't tell anyone, their relationship is sort of secret. They're not really hiding anything, but they don't seem like very PDA-ish people to me. I was going to have John go off on someone or something, but then I wouldn't be incorporating the reason in, so...  
I wanted to do this one because, of all the things to tease your asexual (though obviously not in this fic) brother about, why sex? What the actual fuck, Mycroft, you douche. But as Sherlock was saying, "Sex doesn't alarm me," John was staring intently at him, clearly interested in hearing his answer. And after Mycroft responds, "How would you know?" Sherlock's face makes a transition that can either be seen as a, "Yeah, fuck you too, Mycroft." face, OR, how I saw it, a switch from an intense face to a poker face. To me, Sherlock kind of looked like he was trying not to laugh. Like he was blowing air out of his nose and biting his inner bottom lip, like I do when trying not to chuckle. So I don't know. If you want, you can go to YouTube and after the put: watch?v=gafCl4OBUio pause at 0:25 for John's stare then play and overanalyze Sherlock just like I did. (holy shit... did I spell Dominatrix right? Should it be capitalized? The hell?)


End file.
